Here lies a soldier
by equine02
Summary: Something I thought of. Enjoy!


**Hi guys! So I know I haven't finished Kindness of Strangers, but this popped into my mind. Yet again, it is not Combat, but inspired by the idea, though following a slightly different track- this is the story of the life of Joe Concord, by own creation. Enjoy, and tell him and me what you think! If you want to see more, I am willing, just drop me a comment or PM me. For prompts- you know what to do! And you also know I love them, so get at it! Right now I'm writing for Combat! so prompts for that fandom are most likely to be answered: ) Enjoy, and thanks for reading!**

 **Extra note: so sorry for the date mixup in the beginning, that one reviewer pointed out. I fixed it, t was not supposed to say 1939- I'd been reading a book that took place in Europe at this time, and you know when you're thinking about something and you accidentally type it? Yup.**

 **WARNING: this has mentions of blood and death. War isn't pretty, so you have been warned.**

Okay so if I can set the scene for you- it's April of '42, World War II has just begun and the itch of the war has spread faster than wildfire, though in different ways. Some itched to get overseas; some the exact opposite. Escaping the draft was something quite a few men would ponder and even attempt in various idiotic ways.

I was a twenty-one-year-old country boy from Kentucky, and God help me, I didn't know a thing about politics or the war, or the army. Does a Major outrank a Lieutenant, or the other way 'round? I still have no idea.

Now allow me to introduce myself. I'm Joe Concord. I was a combat medic for the U.S. Army during WWII, and heaven forbid I forget to mention that those were the bloodiest days of my existence.

I best recall my first battle-field loss, a guy named Grey. Louis Grey, with his fluffy ginger hair and excitable nature. Why, you could slap that boy on the shoulder just cause he was your buddy, and he'd jump to heaven thinking you were bringing news that the war was over. Good old Louis. Well, actually, he was a baby, not old at all. Probably nineteen- oh look who's talking, after all, I was only two years older, but he was still a kid at heart.

Anyhow, Louis and I, we were creeping up in the back of the squad, the last two. A man named Campbell had the point, and in between him and us, there were five men- our own Sergeant Daniel Redman, and four Privates. We didn't have anything special in our squad; we were just plain guys fighting for more than our lives, but so many others too. Some days I'd just think so hard about it that my head felt like it would just burst.

So here we were, crawling through the magnificent shrubbery of France, and that's when the Krauts hit us full on, and I mean _full_ on. I barely had time to register the fact that we were being shot at before someone's blood was in my eyes. I could taste it in my mouth, it was repulsive.

Spluttering, I wiped my face with my sleeve, and turned to see Louis lying there, head tilted to the side like he was looking at something real interesting. His eyes were open, but they didn't seem to see- yet he wasn't dead. I swear, it was the strangest thing. Through the firing, I whispered to myself, "Dear Lord," and scooted forward. I put as much pressure as I could on the wound in his leg, but I was afraid it had hit that artery there, and he was a goner. Fortunately, they do teach you some useful stuff at those training drills and medical classes. I knew how to make and apply a tourniquet, so I'll be darned if that's not exactly what I did. And so, we were pinned down there for what seemed like a forever and a half, while I was trying to stop Louis's bleeding; that's when Cole, a guy with a big nose and a bigger personality, well, that's when he kicked the bucket. And boy did he kick it hard. I winced, and tried to crawl over to him, just in case a little piece of life might still be there, but an arm stopped me- Jasper Morgan tugged on my sleeve in between shots.

"Doc!" he screamed over the noise, "Don't, it's too late for him! Take care of Louis!"

I'd known that them two were friends, I guess I just never figured how good of friends they really were.

I nodded regretfully and dragged myself back to Grey's side, but it was pretty clear he was going fast. Without a second thought I tightened the tourniquet, though something tells me it didn't help much, because it only took about two more minutes, and then Louis just stared into the sharp blueness of the sky, but I knew he didn't see it. My first man, dead.

I think my Dad would have said, "You can't save em all, son."

I think my reply would have been, "But I should save the boys."

They've all got families, and they got rights to see them again if it's the Lord's will. Well, so I lost a young fella. Jasper was sore, not at me, but at all humanity, God, and most especially, Krauts.

And this is the reason I lost him too. On November 5th, 1940, after about one year of building anger towards his enemy, Jasper Morgan ran right out of cover and into Kraut fire. He made it surprisingly far, firing all the way and probably hitting something too, before he fell over onto his knees, gave a loud gasp of surprise, and promptly joined Louis.

I think I don't know how to cry anymore, and that's not just because of every guy I lose. It's also the guys who've seen too much to want to live again. Lord, if there was only such a thing as losing those sights, but I know you can't, they get burned onto your mind just like if you touch hot coals. It's instant, agonizing, and it will always leave a scar.

Sometimes we'd be walking back to base, and all tired like, we were a real mess, down two three, sometimes more men than anybody could afford or fathom, and my pockets felt so _heavy_. Oh, dog tags aren't very weighty much by themselves, but when they are the labels of the dead, and just sitting in your pocket, well, it's like carrying around the evidence of a murder. Every step you take is like walking through chocolate pudding, only you keep sinking lower and lower, and soon you are consumed in something that seemed so good before- to fight for your country and die nobly- but is now worse than any instant death.

I don't want to see men die, but like I said…. When they give up the will to stop surviving and start enjoying the breaths they got left, well, then even death is better than living.

 **Thanks guys!**

 **Just want to say, you don't know how agonizing it is when a guest drops me a wonderful comment and I can't reply- but I want you to know, you guys are so appreciated! I love hearing from you, your thoughts, experiences, ideas…. It's awesome, never stop!**


End file.
